


Hotel After Dark

by IntoTheRiverStyx



Series: Took my Boat Down to Hotel Road [8]
Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, hotel au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 09:54:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23349505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoTheRiverStyx/pseuds/IntoTheRiverStyx
Summary: Secacesaid 'there should be a hotel after dark series' and, having no self-control or ability to resist temptation, decided that yes, there should be, and it should be compliant with the rest of the hotel AU cannon.Characters and tags will be added as needed.
Relationships: Bedivere/Kay (Arthurian), Galahad/Mordred (Arthurian)
Series: Took my Boat Down to Hotel Road [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663936
Kudos: 17





	1. Say Yes

He'd never accompanied Galahad on any of his stints to one of the world's gambling meccas – work usually prevented him, but he also found it a little intimidating.

But Galahad succeeded in talking him into working one job and spending more time at home less than a month ago.

Since then, Mordred found himself talked into things with a lot less resistance.

Galahad chuckled and nudged Mordred over so he could lie next to him.

“Do you always stay in rooms like this?” Mordred asked, “I think this is bigger than our apartment.”

“It is, and no, I don't” Galahad told him, “In the past, I was usually with Bors and Percival, so we got rooms that we could sleep in and not much else. Then the past three years it's just been me, and well, you know how well I sleep alone.”

“You don't,” Mordred rolled himself on top of Galahad so they were back-to-back. Galahad let out a few noises of protest but made no move to shale Mordred off. “What's different this time.”

“You're here,” Galahad told him, “and while there are plenty of things to see and do in Vegas I have a suspicion I'm going to be seeing the inside of this room quite a bit during the day.”

Mordred chuckled and rolled off of Galahad. Galahad made a slightly unhappy noise and reached out for Mordred.

Mordred rolled back over, not worrying as much as he used to that he might hurt Galahad with his full weight

The think about decreasing his resistance to Galahad's requests, Mordred realized, was he was realizing how much he _liked_ Galahad being control.

“Your thinking loudly again,” Galahad informed him, “I don't need my father's magics to tell you that.”

“I'd rather not bring either of our fathers into that I'm thinking about,” Mordred's reply was reflexive.

Galahad chuckled and gave Mordred's shoulders a nudge with his own. Mordred slid off this time, minimizing loss of contact.

Galahad was on top of Mordred in a heartbeat.

“What would you like to bring in to what you're thinking about?” Galahad purred.

“Anything you want to,” Mordred told him.

“What do _you_ want, Mo?” Galahad asked, his lips pressed against Mordred's.

“I want,” Mordred's breath hitched as Galahad tugged on the hem of his shirt, “I want you, Gal.”

“Mnm,” Galahad purred, “I think we've established that's the end goal here, but how we arrive to that conclusion -”

Mordred cut him off with a kiss, fervent and wanting. “I want you,” Mordred said again, “I want,” he took a deep breath, “I want you to take control.”

Galahad took in a deep gulp of air, realizing what Mordred meant.

Until this point they had, at most, been level in terms of control and lead, though Mordred generally kept a tighter grip on things than Galahad. A product of how they coped with their lives from _before_ , Galahad had always assumed, Mordred fending for himself and Galahad leaning into what others could offer, afraid or unable to take on everything for himself.

He looked at Mordred sprawled under him, completely unguarded in both form and words, and decided that, yes, he could. 

For Mordred, he could do anything.

“Yeah,” Galahad shivered, “yeah, I can do that.”

Mordred bit the inside of his lower lip to keep from squirming too much as Galahad lead Mordred's arms into a resting position above his head, both wrists pinned to the mattress with some additional force and a quick, “Stay.”

Galahad kissed a line down from Mordred's neck, to his collar bone, shoved Mordred's shirt up and the off, then shed his own in a movement so quick Mordred would have missed it if he blinked.

Galahad fumbled with Mordred's belt until the buckle gave. He slipped the thing out with a series of tugs, determined to keep Mordred flesh against the mattress for as long as possible.

The pull of the belt and jeans against his hips felt _good_ in a way he hadn't expected. Mordred groaned and leaned into the pressure, wanting more already.

Galahad was quick to remove the rest of his clothes, then Mordred's a hurried impatience driving him forward, fasted.

Until Mordred tried to help with the last of the clothing removal.

“Hands above your head,” Galahad instructed, “I will tie them there if I have to.”

“Is that a promise?” Mordred asked, hands reaching for Galahad again.

Galahad laughed and reached for Mordred's belt. He used it to bind Mordred's wrists without damaging circulation as best as he could manage, the bindings loose but holding fast.

Mordred gasped when Galahad threw his arms more than let them back down.

“Let me,” Galahad said.

“Yes,” Mordred whined and canted his hips towards Galahad.

“Impossible,” Galahad said lightly, delivering a gentle, playful slap to the outside of Mordred's thigh.

Mordred whimpered.

“Oh you would,” Galahad's tone dropped, shifting into something more focused. 

Mordred nodded, a pleading expression affixing itself to his eyes.

“Then ask nicely,” Galahad nudged Mordred's legs a bit, telling him to spread them with his touches.

Directing Mordred's every movement without so much as a word, his partner so pliant and willing under him.

“Please?” Mordred asked.

“Hmn,” Galahad moved forward to press his hips against Mordred's inner thighs, as close as he could get.

Mordred arched his back to increase the points of contact. Galahad braced a hand on each of Mordred's thighs and, in a rare display of strength, held Mordred in place.

“Please what?” Galahad asked, surprised by the intensity of the question.

“Hit me,” Mordred tried to get closer to Galahad, but Galahad's bracing held fast, “Please. Again.”

Galahad delivered another strike to Mordred's outer thigh, sharp, fast, echoing in the room.

Mordred made a sound caught between a gasp and a groan, his thigh tensing for a flash before telaxing again.

“Good?” Galahad asked, unsure. Worried.

“More than good,” Mordred's voice wasn't much more than begging, “Gods, Galahad.”

“Well pick one,” Galahad teased.

“You,” Mordred's choice was an easy one, “You over the gods, any day.”

Galahad made a disbelieving sound.

“I would,” Mordred promised him, “Any day.”

Galahad offered Mordred a smile, then another slap across his thigh – across the top this time, testing.

Mordred whimpered again.

“Please,” Mordred hoped Galahad didn't require more words this time.

Galahad licked his palm and brought his hand down around Mordred's cock, allowing Mordred to thrust into the pressure for a few seconds. 

Galahad shifted so he was resting on the balls of his feet instead of his shins.

Brought his knees down to brace Mordred's thighs and leaned into the bracings, both to keep Mordred in place and take some weight off his feet.

“Mordred,” Galahad said his partner's name like a prayer.

“Galahad,” Mordred pleaded.

Galahad began stroking Mordred with slow, intentional strokes. Mordred tried to thrust into them, at first, his efforts fruitless under Galahad's careful pinning.

“Easy,” Galahad told him.

“Need,” Mordred whined.

“Easy,” Galahad repeated, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “trust me.”

It was a low blow and he knew it, but the way Mordred relaxed, the way he handed the control back to Galahad instantly was so, so worth it.

Galahad tried to get both of their dicks in one hand but found it too awkward, too much focus required when he needed what blood was still going to his brain to keep his self-control in one piece.

He pinned his dick between Mordred's groin and his own hand, knuckles harsher than expected but still doing what he wanted them to do.

Mordred was already making short, breathy sounds and Galahad decided that, no, not already.

This was a thing to be savored.

He stopped stroking and smacked Mordred across the thigh again. It had the opposite of the intended effect.

Mordred came with a shout, loud, percussive in the relative quiet of the hotel room.

“Huh,” Galahad managed.

“Holy shit,” Mordred said with an exhale.

“That,” Galahad tried to fish out the words, “wow.” He managed one more word. That was plenty, he decided.

“But you -” Mordred was in no shape to form a sentence. His nerves were pulsing, an electric thing that showed no signs of relenting any time soon.

“I can fuck your mouth,” Galahad offered. 

_“Oh god yes please,”_ Mordred's words were rushed, strung together with the need still clawing at his soul.

Galahad let Mordred up, a slow, deliberate thing. Mordred rolled onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows, wrists still bound.

There was an adjustment, Mordred needing room to bow on his knees with his forearms in front of him, Galahad finding an angle to kneel at where he could thrust into Mordred's mouth with ease.

Satisfied with the angle, he threaded his fingers through Mordred's hair, pulled, and began to thrust.

The warm, wet heat of Mordred's mouth drove him wild, shattered what was left of his self-restraint. 

Mordred did his best to use his tongue, his teeth with care, but Galahad was setting such an unrelenting pace it was an uncoordinated effort at best.

“Mordred,” Galahad hissed, one hand pulling Mordred's hair with one hand, the other cupping Mordred's jaw, thumb pressing at the joint to keep it open exactly where it was. 

Galahad lost himself in the motions, the entire world dissolving down to the two of them.

“Shit,” Galahad hissed, “Mo, I -” Galahad loosened his grip, gave Mordred the chance to pull back.

Mordred surged forward and _sucked._

Galahad doubled over, riding out his orgasm at an angle so awkward that at any other time he would be desperate to change positions.

He finally let himself sink down to his knees again, chest heaving and mouth open.

“Shit,” Galahad hissed.

Mordred offered him an exhausted, pleased grin.

Galahad managed the wherewithal to slide back enough to untie Mordred's wrists, Mordred flopped forward and flexed his wrists, then his palms, than his fingers.

Galahad pivoted enough to be able to lie down facing the same direction as Mordred. He shifted until he could place an arm over Mordred's shoulders and have their heads at the same level.

“I love you,” Galahad told him.

“I trust you,” Mordred's face was buried in the bedding, “and I love you.”

Silence, and then.

“How are you feeling?” Galahad asked.

“Fantastic,” Mordred turned his head to face Galahad, “more than I realized I _could_ feel fantastic.”

“Good,” Galahad held him a little closer.

Mordred let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and let himself melt into Galahad's warmth.


	2. Only You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After far too much time in transit, Kay and Bedivere finally get to their hotel room. Rest, however, is not on either of their minds.

The building's plain facade had been a trick, Kay decided.

“If it isn't Lancelot's,” Bedivere said quietly, “I don't want to know who commissioned the decor.”

“It looks like a dungeon fucked a coffee shop and left the resulting child to be raised by wolves,” Kay said at normal volume.

“Well at least a third of that would be Lancelot's fault for getting captured so many times,” Bedivere shook his head, “Held in his own goddamned castle.”

“This was your idea,” Kay reminded him.

“This was the Merlin's idea some fifteen centuries ago and we're stuck in this hell for it,” Bedivere countered.

“I hate that you're right,” Kay grimaced.

“No you don't,” Bedivere smirked.

Kay decided this was a conversation for later, watching as Bedivere tapped the key against the lock – a newer key system, Kay noted, quiet blessedly. No matter what happened, no matter what they found, there would be no three in the morning still-drunk fighting with the basic idea that you slide a card into a slot to get in a room you're paying for.

“If you're thinking about the Tokyo,” Bedivere said as he turned the knob, “so am I.”

Kay laughed and rushed Bedivere in the door. “You know,” he said as he made sure the door clicked shut behind him, “It's a faster flight to Tokyo from here than it is from London.”

“I have already spent too much time on planes over the past day and a half,” Bedivere all but dropped his bags on the floor, “and require some down time if we're going to change our itinerary.”

“Hmn,” Kay only used a little more caution in making sure his stuff was on the floor and mostly upright, “Down time, you say?”

“Or up time,” Bedivere was already detaching his arm, “Both,” he added with a small laugh.

“I like how you think,” Kay purred, “Fifteen fucking hours between planes and airports.”

“Not including time in cabs,” Bedivere grinned at Kay, who was already shedding his clothes. He got his pants stuck around his shoe and Bedivere laughed, reaching out an arm to steady him. Kay grabbed it, finished the pants removal process, and tugged at the waistline of Bedivere's pants. “Patience,” Bedivere told him.

“I don't want to be patient,” Kay complained, “I want to be finding the perfect blend of down time and up time.”

Bedivere made a noise that was caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Twenty-six years,” Bedivere growled, “and you still manage to drive me absolutely wild.”

“Good,” Kay's eyes were sparkling, mischievous, “I'd hate for things to become one-sided.”

“Don't even joke like that,” Bedivere cautioned him as he tugged his shirt up and over his head, “It's always only been you, Kay.”

“As it's always only ever been you,” Kay promised, hooking his thumbs into Bedivere's waistband and pulling him closer, “Across time and space, my soul knows yours.” He tugged Bedivere's pants down, just enough to start the process, thankful they'd both worn loose clothes for comfort and there wasn't going to be any processes involved like _remembering how to work belt buckles_.

“Kay,” Bedivere had an easier time stepping out of his pants, “Kay.” Bedivere repeated, more hungry, more desperate.

Bedivere had, Kay realized, also forgone underwear. Bedivere crowded Kay against the door, hungry kisses and burning skin and wandering hands caught in the tempest that they always became when they found themselves together like this. 

“You're tense,” Bedivere noted as he ran his hand down Kay's chest.

“Well,” Kay looked around, “just a touch.”

“Talk to me,” Bedivere purred as he kissed a line down Kay's jaw, then down his neck, grazing Kay's skin with his teeth.

“Just that – ah!” Kay grabbed Bedivere's hips and brought them against his own, seeking friction, already mostly hard, “What if this is the beginning of what we're hoping it is?”

“We cross that bridge when we get to it,” Bedivere ground his hips against Kay's.

“I know, I – oh,” whatever Kay was about to say was cut off as Bedivere started moving his kisses lower and lower, “tease.”

“It's only teasing if I don't plan on following through,” Bedivere purred, kissing a line down to Kay's hip. He bit the skin and bone – hard – drawing a mixed pain-pleasure sound from his partner.

“Bedi!” Kay threaded his hands through Bedivere's hair.

“Kay,” Bedivere's voice was low, quiet. He licked the underside of Kay's cock. Kay groaned and thrust into the sensation. Bedivere put his hand against Kay's hip and the remained of his forearm on Kay's other hip, “you just relax.”

A sound almost like a shaky laugh escaped Kay as his grip on Bedivere's hair tightened. Bedivere hummed and took Kay's erection into his mouth. Kay let out a whine – a sound only Bedivere would ever hear – and let his head fall back against the door.

Bedivere was a master at his craft, the decades together having afforded him much practice. It took almost no time before Kay was making high, pleading noises as Bedivere held him firm against the door.

Kay pulled at Bedivere's hair as he pleaded, trying to set his own pace.

Bedivere dug his fingers into Kay's hip, a reminded he was in charge, a request for Kay to _relax_ , to surrender some of the control he held onto so tightly.

Kay managed a shaky breath and let his upper and mid back brace against the door, his hips still canted forward.

“Good,” Bedivere pulled off for a moment to praise him. Kay let out another whine, his arms relaxing just enough to bend at the elbows.

Bedivere set a much faster pace, Kay's grip slipping as he felt his orgasm building. Carefully, he grazed the tip of Kay's dick with his teeth and moved his hand from Kay's hip to grip his balls.

Kay came with a shout, whole body tensing before he relaxed again. One hand found its way to Bedivere's shoulder to steady himself, breaths coming in loud, panting motions.

“How are you feeling?” Bedivere asked as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Words are hard,” Kay managed to say.

“Come on,” Bedivere rose to his feet slowly, “Let's get you to the bed.”

Kay let Bedivere lead him tot he bed, let Bedivere lay him down on his back before laying on top of him. He wrapped both arms around Bedivere and held him like he was his sole anchor to the world.

“How are you feeling?” Bedivere asked again.

“Perfect,” Kay kissed the parts of Bedivere's face he could reach. Bedivere shifted so he could kiss Kay proper, a tender thing so different from the frenzied, desperate kissed when they'd finally shut the door behind them. “I love you,” Kay said when Bedivere pulled back for air.

“And I you,” Bedivere pressed his forehead against Kay's, “You're so good to me.”

A pleased sound escaped Kay more than he made the sound, but he said, “And you to me.”

Bedivere nestled his face into Kay's neck, planting lazy kisses . Kay kept his hold tight, tangling their legs together and tilting his head so Bedivere had as much neck as possible to kiss.

“You're perfect for me,” Bedivere told him.

“Only you,” Kay replied, “Only you.”


End file.
